


The McCulvert Tragedy

by Gerendum



Category: Game Grumps
Genre: Action/Suspence With A Smattering Of Romance, Alternate Universe - Bed & Breakfast, Alternate Universe Game Grumps, Arin Is Such A Dad In This, Dan is a good friend, Domestic Paternal Fluff, Established Relationship, F/M, Footman!Dan, GameKeeper!Jory, GateKeeper!Brent, Head Butler!Arin, Head chef!Rosanna, Implied Sexual Content, Kid!YouTubers, Loss of Control, Maid!Grace, Maid!Hannah, Maid!Mamri, Minor Character Death, Not Beta Read, Seamstress!Suzy, Stableboy!Ike, The Author Is Crap At History But Tried Their Best, You Have To Squint To See Other YouTuber Mentions, intentional loose ends
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-22
Updated: 2020-07-03
Packaged: 2021-03-03 23:41:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 11,738
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24854020
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gerendum/pseuds/Gerendum
Summary: In the beginning, life is all sunshine and buttercups at The McCulvert Bed & Breakfast. Everything runs as it should in the Lord and Lady’s absence until an unexpected event sends head butler Arin Hanson scrambling. Will he be able to keep his composure in such adverse circumstances, or will it all crumble beneath him?
Relationships: Suzy Berhow/Arin Hanson
Comments: 2
Kudos: 2





	1. Black on Beige Awakening

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know how I came about this idea, but it happened late at night. It was one of those things where I literally couldn't go back to sleep until I got the first chapter out. I - I don't know what happened! I intended it to be three, but BAM, here we are five chapters later. 
> 
> NOW. *ahem* I did the best job I could reading and rereading it, but expect some slip-ups. If there are pros and cons of the story that you'd like me to see, shoot me a message! I enjoy collaborating with people, and I may even be available to Beta Read in limited quantities. Until then, I hope you enjoy the McCulvert experience!

A shrill, clanging sound Arin knew all too well echoed throughout the small dormitory.

His alarm.

That blasted thing that hounded him at 5a.m. every morning jangled and caterwauled on his bedside table. Arin responded promptly by throwing a pillow round his ears. It did absolutely nothing to stall the dratted machine’s fervor. In a surprising fit of temper for one so early in the morning, Arin buffeted the alarm soundly with his feather pillow. It sent the black-on-beige time piece plummeting to the floor below where it danced a maddening, broken jig. Arin picked it up post haste and dashed it against the wardrobe; it would be the 5th one broken this month. Once his day has begun as head butler, Arin’s all business. It’s just getting there at 5 in the blinking morning is SUCH a drag.

Then Arin smiled. The sounds would have alerted them by now.

He looked up at the register that sits diagonally to the wardrobe. Curious titterings ensued  from it ever since the alarm went off. Stifling his own chuckles, Arin rises and gathers his pajama bottoms up around his ankles. The  seamstress had made them too long again, he suspected on purpose. But, she had also sewn a heart on the inside leg. He flushed as he recalls their last meeting.

He walk s over to the wardrobe, casting a wither ing glance at the black-on-beige offal beside it. Arin looks up at the grate, noting 3 demure shadows darting to and fro over it. One asked the other to stop shoving so, and another giggles with barely  suppressed glee. It took Arin all of his nerve not to laugh at the spectacle, but he st ands with his legs splayed, and his hands on his hips resolutely.

A single, gruff “HARUMPH” is all it takes to send the 3 shadows above into squealing fits of laughter. Arin grits his teeth in a half-grimace half-grin as the booming sound of  little feet thunder ed overhead, making the gas lanterns tinkle in their sconces. Arin ha d maybe 10 minutes tops to throw on his underclothes before The Teeny, Tiny Terrors (his terminology) enter ed the room.

He succeeded in getting one cuff-link secured before his chamber door creak ed open.  The first Terror that po p ped their head in was 7 year old Jenna. As she could most mornings, Jenna had wriggled her way into her mother’s parlor and  procured a number of makeup items an d other such  finery . She paraded around  until Arin scooped her up and set her atop her usual spot  on his large, red trunk at the foot of  the bed. She pointed a gaudy wrist at the door before exclaiming in her best stage voice,

“The riff raff have arrived!”

Not a smart second after, two boys emerged. Tucker, aged six and a half, and Matthew-Patrick, age 5. The latter had taken an old, black tablecloth from goodness-knows-where and slung it about his shoulders as a cape. In one of his chubby fists was a notepad  with numerous indecipherable scribbles. Behind him was Tucker, hiding behind a comically over-sized magnifying glass.

Arin looked on fondly at the spectacle.

The Teeny Tiny Terrors were vampire hunting this week. They had caught wind of A. W. Mornau’s  _ Nosferatu _ debuting in the cinema, and had been convinced the dastardly fiend was hiding behind the screen the entire time. Arin doubted His Lord and Ladyship would ever let the children see such a startling picture, and wondered how they came by the information in the first place. Currently, though, he was too preoccupied with their antics to care.

The Terrors had abandoned fae-hunting, it seemed. The week before that, they had searched diligently for the ghost of His Lordship’s beloved great dane, Lucy. Jenna would flounce around and attempt to draw out the quarry with her good looks, and Tucker and Matthew-Patrick would slink along in the shadows, hoping to spot whatever it was.

The children inspect the small dormitory thoroughly while Arin busies himself  fitting into the rest of his ensemble. The Teenies might be Terrible, but they kn e w enough not to stall him preparing for his day. The first and last time they made him late, all 4 of them heard about it from different higher-ups; the children from the Nanny, and Arin from Master McCulvert himself.

As quickly as they entered, the threesome left. Jenna swore she caught sight of a vampire blowing a kiss at her from the hallway. The children jumped and giggled, crowding each other by the doorway as they capered down the hall.

Arin breathed a happy sigh. He analyzes himself one last time in the full-length before looking out the attic window at the grounds below.

The 26-room Bed and Breakfast typically had a steady stream of travelers. Being one of the few B & B establishments in the county was both a blessing and a curse in this respect. One could never plan for high and low periods of activity as you could in a cafe or tavern.

Arin looks out his chamber window, combing his eyes over the stables across the drive, and feels a strong pull of longing. He could remember coming here years ago as a stable boy. He’d been raised near and around horses on his father’s farm, and some of his earliest memories involved driving a team to market. Arin learned to ride “almost before he could write” his mother used to tell everyone.

The sounds of doors being shut alerted him that he’d been daydreaming again. He bustl es about making his bed, and tuck s his bedclothes into the handsome red chest at the foot of his bed. The last task Arin d oes before he le aves the room  is to pick up a singular pearl off the floor, no doubt deposited by Jenna. She’d often leave her mother’s belongings around for Tucker and Matthew-Patrick to “discover as clues” for a later date. Arin g ives a last smile before he head s out the door.

* * * *

7:30a.m. found Arin reviewing Master McCulvert’s trip itinerary for the  umpteenth time.  He and the Lady were to return here tomorrow at noon. Lady McCulvert’s cousin had caught such a severe case of pnuemonia, it was feared she might not make it through the night. Luckily, with the very talented  aid of a nurse called Brittany, she was able to pull through. It had taxed Arin’s nerves when said cousin was here with her fiance, Greg, a month ago. He had been overly fond of the bottle, and was making midnight trips to the servant’s cellar to smuggle stock back to his room. Had it not been for the shrewd ears of the footman, Daniel, Greg might have made off with half the stock. Arin supposed it was half a blessing Daniel was such a light sleeper.  He’d almost never forgiven himself for the incident, but had on Daniel’s insistence. 

8  came and went and Arin fe els his  attention wande r as he finishe s inventory. He’ s accomplished the whole thing quicker than expected, and his mind drift s to his favorite seamstress once again. To attempt to clear his head of such impure thoughts, Arin trundl es off towards the servant’s dining. He roll s Jenna’s forgotten pearl in his right-most pocket as he  goes . The various staff stiff en a bit at his appearance, but only momentarily. It wasn’t uncommon for the  h ead  b utler to pace once Lady and Lord McCulvert had gone visiting. It helped being part of the job description anyway.

The typical maddening bustle assault s him as soon as he enters the servant’s kitchen. Crockery and trays of sweet meats fl y past him at an alarming rates even for one accustomed to it. Guest dining would be going full swing with its breakfast itinerary now that it was 8. The Head Cook, Rosann a was a fearsome sight to behold this time in the morning, and even more fearsome at 5. She could bellow orders at a level that could make a drill sergeant sweat.  At the moment, she had been berating a scullery maid for dropping a gravy boat too abruptly into the basin. She pause s only briefly when she encounter s Arin’s gaze, and they wink at each other before Rosann a jerk s her thumb in the direction of the wine cellar. Whatever ha s been going on in there couldn’t be good, judging by Rosann a ’s glower. Arin’s right hand immediately  goes to his cuff-link – it was never a good sign when this happened.

A rin hear s the drunken revelry before he spie s the sources. It was a shanty the voices kn o w well, and they carr y on gustily

There was a captain on my ship

He gandered at my aft

There was a captain on my ship

Who shew a boarding pass

There was a captain on my ship

He spied my powder kegs

There was a captain on my ship

Who grew a spare peg leg

Arin swipes the back of his hand across the beads of sweat gathering on his forehead.

So it was these three again!

He remember s Her Ladyship’s pleas to her husband to add more maids to the B&B’s roster. He also recall s the flack they got when one maid led to two led to three. Mamrie had been a hidden package deal. They never intended for three maids, but Hannah and Grace seemed to fit the bill so perfectly. What the McCulvert’s Bed and Breakfast didn’ t expect was the drunken shenanigans that followed. Arin supposed they would have been let go a long time ago hadn’t they sounded so pleasing vocally. Arin stuff s a fist against his mouth to stop laughing, and position s himself by the crack in the wine cellar door to better see the girls. Mamrie had  a half-finished bottle in her right hand, a broomstick in her left, and was leading the small procession round and round the untapped kegs. Both Hannah and Grace had their skirts up around their knees  and were shaking them, creating a sort of soft rustling percussion.

There was a captain on my ship

He commandeered my keel

There was a captain on my ship

Who greasened up my wheel

There was a captain on my ship

A wise and handsome chap

There was a captain –

Arin chose this moment to sneak into the room, placing himself directly in the maids’ intended path. They round the bend, and immediately halt when they see him. Mamrie stiffens and jerks the broom handle backwards, catching Hannah square in the nose. Hannah reels her head back in pain, elbowing Grace in the ribs who then spit out her mouthful of wine directly at the back of Hannah’s head.

. Arin concentrates every nerve in his body not to break out into peels of laughter. He saves face by marching out of the room, the perfect picture of unbridled fury. He’s not expecting to knock into the footman 6 steps later.

Daniel stumbles back a couple steps, struggling to keep hold of the pile in his arms. Arin opens his mouth to apologize, and realizes Dan’s arms are full of clothing. Arin recognizes a favorite pair of trousers in desperate need of repair on their seat. In fact, all the clothing in his arms looked in desperate need of repair.

“Ah, the very man I was looking for!” Daniel said. Arin reaches for the pile of well-folded clothing before he can stop himself. He understands full well what it means, where he would take it, and most importantly who would fix it. This wasn’t the first time Daniel recognized Arin’s object of affection, and would make excuses for him to head in town to see her.

In an attempt to save face, Arin sighs at the footman’s gesture. To his surprise, Dan winks back affectionately.

“Daniel, I have a laundry list of things to do while His Lordship is away,” Arin began.

“And there will be plenty of time to finish it when you return in an hour. Brent and I will make sure everything stays afloat. We always have!” Dan finishes, and smiles at Arin, almost pushing the head butler backwards down the short hall and out the door. Arin catches himself before he falls, and splutters out,

“But Rosanna hasn’t given me her list of ingredients yet!”

Dan smiles wider, replying that he had tucked said list into a pocket in the trousers to be mended. Arin shakes his head and marvels at his underling’s forethought. When His Lordship returns, he would have to have a word with him about the footman’s particularly helpful qualities.

Arin receives a hearty pat on the shoulder before having the door shut rather abruptly in his face.

_Well then._

He tucks the pile of garments under his arm and makes his way towards the stables. He’s not at all surprised to find The Terrors holding up the gamekeeper, Jory. Jenna bounces up and down excitedly, while Tucker and Matthew-Patrick huddle close with wide, staring eyes. Tucker takes out his magnifying glass and inspects the double brace of Guinea Foul slung over the gamekeeper’s shoulder. Arin would have bet money on the fact they were asking him if he shot any vampires.

Arin’s intention was to sneak by the lot of them, but the eyes of a seasoned gamekeeper seldom miss a trick. Jory hails Arin with a grin, and his eyes drift down to the pile of clothes. His grin widens instantly when he realizes where Arin is headed. The children notice Arin, too.

_Damn it._

Arin smiles back, completely natural as both Jory and The Terribles grill him on where he’d be going and approximately when he’d be back. The party of five bandy back and forth while the stable boy, Isaac, outfits Arin’s favorite Thoroughbred.

The Terribles are climbing into the back of the cart to go with him when Arin recalls he has a trump card in his pocket. A gigantic wave of relief washes over him that he might have a way out of taking them. Quirking an eyebrow, he asks,

“Are you sure you wouldn’t rather investigate the drawing room?”

The children freeze, and Tucker glances around worriedly.

Arin presents the single necklace pearl, and Jenna’s eyes widen as her hands fly to her neck.

“The vampire has left us a clue in the drawing room!!” Matthew-Patrick crows as he jumps off the cart.

“Tucker, hurry! He could be gone by now!” Tucker follows quickly, Jenna screaming at them to wait for her as the trio embark towards the servant’s entry.

Arin shares a triumphant smile with Jory, who shakes his head at Arin’s craftiness. He and Isaac wave as the little cart departs for the main gate.

Arin drives by the front of the B & B, noticing a shining Rolls-Royce parked by the entrance. Behind the pearly car was a second one, a lovely silvery color that glints in the mid-morning sun. Arin watches a young couple depart from the first car, and takes note of the elderly folks exiting the second.

A very irritated snort pulls Arin from his gawking, and he turns his attention to the impatient Thoroughbred in front of him. The horse, Otto, had pinned his ears to express just how displeased he was that they weren’t going faster. Arin rolls his eyes fondly and slapped the reins. The cart lurches forward and they’re off the white gravel path. Doubt spreads its way into Arin’s mind one last time as he turns to look at the estate. Had he made the right decision in his employer’s stead? Arin considered this as he signaled Brent the gatekeeper. The iron bars swing wide, and Arin nods his head in thanks toward the man.

Arin turns right onto the main road leading to town, and his heart does the smallest of leaps at what the immediate future might hold.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


	2. Racing Thoughts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On a routine errand into town, head butler Arin Hanson engages in some romantic hijinks whilst there.

Otto picks up his feet smartly, and Arin finds himself smiling at the gelding’s exuberance. Partly because that was just his personality, and partly because the horse knew Arin would sneak him a couple sugar cubes once they reached town. Arin smiles deeper when he remembers that The Teeny, Tiny Terrors once were caught out by the stables with a plate of cherry-cheese pasties. They had succeeded in feeding a third of the platter to Otto and the other horses before Jory found them. It was reported that Allie, the nanny, could be heard scolding them throughout the entire building.

Arin is two miles out of town when his daydreams get the better of him. His last memory of his meeting with the seamstress wafts in, sending shivers down his body. He had taken her dancing at O’Donovan’s the Saturday before last. The little restaurant had a theatre attached, the variety that had mobile seating. During musical events, the rows could be moved aside to reveal a dance floor underneath. Arin and Suzy had slow-danced the night away and ended up at her apartment the same night. It was two in the morning when Arin came back to the B&B, completely flustered and with his hair and clothing all askew. Daniel, luckily, had been sitting up waiting for him with an alibi that he had caught Arin sleepwalking, should anybody ask.

Arin warms to the memory, when he realizes with a small start he is no longer moving. He is completely still in his seat, and did not remember asking Otto to stop. Then he blinks and finds the cart stopped under a familiar-looking apple tree. Allie was often fond of taking the children picnicking in the field over which the gnarled tree sits. The horses knew it well enough that Otto sensed Arin’s mind elsewhere, and used the opportunity to stop the cart himself. Otto isn’t a complete fool, however. He knows he has a limited amount of time before Arin comes to his senses and scolds him for it, thus the horse scarfs himself like an absolute maniac in the meantime. The brute tosses his head indignantly at Arin’s insistence to get back on the road, and takes one last bite of an apple out of spite. The gelding wouldn’t be receiving his sugar cubes when they reached town, but he’d won anyway and they both knew it.

They pass Mirror Lake train station, and various engineers and servicemen bustle about the train yard. One, a germanic chap with broad shoulders and sparkling eyes, hails Arin. The butler smiles and nods in response, but can’t quite place where he knows the man. Perhaps he’d seen him on a previous journey with Master McCulvert? Arin is reflecting on this when his heart leaps into his throat. There, on the horizon is the city line, and somewhere inside it is Suzy. Arin slaps the reins urgently, and Otto picks up a canter.

The town of Mirror Lake flurries with its typical amount of weekend activity. Arin has to be cautious with Otto in and around the city streets, especially with them vying for position against much less forgiving automobiles. Lady McCulvert had lost one of her favorite Palominos when it broke free, and sprinted down the road towards town. The driver hadn’t seen the frantic horse coming. The crash had been brutal, but the horse suffered only briefly before it succumbed. The Lady was inconsolable about it for days. For this reason, Arin navigates side streets as much as he can. It really is rather convenient that Suzy’s business is located on one such out-of-the-way side street.

Mortemer’s Alterations and Fineries has a brown-and-gold embroidered flag above it’s door. It says “open” in delicate rose-colored threading. The palette reminds Arin of a particular pastry he’s seen in the baker’s window. He wonders briefly if Suzy got the idea for the flag from the bake shop or if its the other way around, and the bake shop is copying Suzy. Arin puts it on the back burner to ask when his current attention isn’t so befuddled.

Arin’s almost through the door when he remembers to secure Otto. Arin shakes his head and finds a post before also recollecting this meeting isn’t just a pleasure call – he has a drop-off to do besides. He reaches into the cart and gather’s Dan’s tousled clothing before heading inside.

The little shop is awash in knick knacks Arin knows well. An expansive bug collection sits against one wall; anyone who inquires receives the answer it’s one of Suzy’s brothers, but Arin knows better. On the same wall is a professional portrait of Suzy and her family. Arin’s heard of Ligouri’s Photography studio that she commissioned last winter. The same business produced beautiful photos of Mirror Lake train station when it opened in the spring of ‘75. Arin marvels at how stunning Suzy looks in her evening dress and wide brim hat. The dress leaves nothing to the imagination, and Suzy seems to know it the way her head tilts flirtingly towards camera. Arin’s mind wanders further, down paths of which the common populace would faint. He’s tugging his pants uncomfortably when the shop door opens behind him abruptly.

A wondrously thin black-haired woman enters, arms laden with a brown paper parcel. Arin quickly pulls his overcoat across himself, nodding to her politely. Luckily, she doesn’t give him much of a mind beyond a few sentences of acknowledgment.

“Do you know when the madame’s due back?” The woman inquires pursing her lips slightly.

“Afraid not. I only just arrived here myself.” Arin responds hesitantly. He wonders if Suzy might not actually be in, and it’s her assistant they might meet instead. Not that he has a problem with Mr. Sanders, but he does. Thomas is not Suzy. Arin shuffles, unsure of what to do.

The black-haired women sighs and adjusts her cloche fussily.

“Oh, never mind. I’ll fix them myself.” The women snatches the parcel off the counter and flounces out the door almost in the same breath. Arin breathes a sigh of relief he isn’t aware he’s holding. He sets his own parcel down on the glass counter. A small rustling catches his attention by the back curtain. It sounds like someone padding about quietly, trying not to draw attention. The movement is unsure and hesitant, not at all the confident strides adopted by Suzy.

A flourish of concern spikes through the man. What if somebody – ?  
No, he can’t think like that. But – 

But what if – ?

Arin reaches slowly for the stick pin hidden behind the counter. Suzy said a gentleman had left it behind when he picked up a pair of trousers and hadn’t been back since. The stick pin had gained somewhat of a reputation among her clientele. Several women wanted to take it home to their husbands, and a couple men had inquired a buying price. But Suzy denied each and every one, claiming that whoever lost it would come back. Arin is eternally thankful that no one had.

The curtain separating the storage/repair room and main shop flutters softly is some errant breeze. The fringes at the base just manage to touch the floor, yet give no hints as to what figure waits behind it. Arin holds the stick pin above his head at an angle and approaches the entry at a snail’s pace. He isn’t ready for what he might see, and his hands go clammy against the cane. He’s a foot away from the curtain when a voice laden with scandalous tones sounds from within.

“Arin? Would you kindly pull the shop windows closed, and put out the ‘out to lunch’ sign?”

Suzy!

His mind phases in and out of functionality. Arin isn’t entirely sure what he accomplishes in the next two minutes, but when he comes to, he finds himself on hands and knees on a bear skin rug in Suzy’s repair shop. The interior is lit dimly, enough that Arin has trouble deciphering one shape to the next. However, there’s no mistaking the warm body beneath him. He thinks he remembers Suzy taking Dan’s clothes out of his arms, but all he can think about now is the seamstress’s soft velvet skin against his face.

* * * * * *

Arin doesn’t allow himself to break composure until he’s well out of sight of Mirror Lake proper. His mind ventures happily back to what occurred not 25 minutes prior. He doesn’t remember Suzy taking any particular interest in animal skins, but that bear pelt was a fine addition make no mistake. He loved the feel of the soft fur as she whispered in his ear. He loved the way the fur rippled beneath them. He loved the way it approached at a furious pace, not even avoiding the pot holes in the road.

Wait, what?

Arin refocuses in time to see a jalopy speeding towards him. The car roars and splutters hitting a pot hole on four wheels, and over-correcting out of it on two. The bar on front is canted at an insane angle, dancing like a frustrated moth against a lamp light. The driver isn’t apparent until he’s right upon Arin. He’s a balding man in his late 40’s. The pallor of his face, however, makes him look ancient. He’s ranting to himself incoherently, and the jalopy disappears down the road in a cloud of dust. It covers him and Otto, making Arin cough. He checks the back of the cart that contains the grocery items, sighing in relief that he had covered them with a blanket. The last thing Arin needs is Rosanna lecturing him about dirty rutabagas. 

Try as he might, Arin can’t let the memory of the jalopy go. It finds insidious ways to creep back into his mind. Something doesn’t feel right about the situation, but the butler is stubborn, and forces it out of his mind. He almost succeeds in banishing it, but the hands of Fate are far more stubborn than he. Arin is almost within line of sight of McCulvert’s Bed and Breakfast when a familiar-looking Rolls Royce comes screaming around the bend. The dust cloud behind takes on monstrous proportions, and Arin jerks the reins instinctively. Otto responds in an instance, sending them into the ditch. Arin clenches his teeth, bouncing dangerously high in his seat. 

When he lands, the first Rolls-Royce is gone, and the second comes rampaging after it not 15 seconds later. The old woman inside has a white-gloved hand pressed to her mouth and tears streaming down her face. The other hand is on the shoulder of her chauffeur, who has his mouth open in disbelief. Arin finds his own mouth falling open.

They’re all guests!  
They’re all guests at our B&B!  
Why the hell are they leaving??

Arin wipes a dusty hand across his forehead, his breath catching in his throat as another car and three carriages pass him, all streaming out of the hotel at breakneck speed.

Arin feels absolutely helpless, and his mind refuses to work for a few seconds before he remembers to breathe. He shuts his eyes momentarily before stepping off the wagon to calm Otto. The horse’s nostrils have flared wide, and he tosses his head as Arin approaches. It takes a minute, but the brute stops flinching under Arin’s steady hands. He slaps Otto’s neck fondly, feeling his own anxiety fall back to an acceptable level. It would do absolutely no good to barge into the estate all a fluster – Arin had pride in his work, and he didn’t want to set a bad precedent just because there was some sort of mass exodus.

He would drive Otto up sensibly. Now that the horse was relaxed, it wouldn’t be difficult to achieve.

The head butler mounts the cart again and throws the hand brake. He and Otto start down the servant’s entry to where the stables are. Arin toys with the main entrance because Brent might know something. But, it’s possible Brent knows as much as he does about this odd catastrophe, which is to say nothing. He’d have better luck from the kitchen staff.

Arin steadies himself with another even breath.  
Calm and collected.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I, um, had to dance around the explicit content in order to keep my rating as I'd like. I'm not unreasonable, though. Pester me enough in the comments, an I miiiiiight be willing to detail the skipped scene at a later date ; )


	3. Live Quail

Arin dismounts, and passes Otto to Isaac. The stable boy is the very picture of anxiety, and doesn’t meet Arin’s gaze. The man wants to ask the lad desperately what’s been happening, but that proves difficult when said boy won’t look at you. The butler sighs as Otto’s irritability flares as he’s passed from Arin’s control to Isaac’s. The boy receives a tail swipe to the face that has Arin almost smiling despite the circumstance. Arin unlatches the cart gate, and begins filling his arms with the first load of goods. He feels a hand upon his back as he reaches for the next item. It’s firm between his shoulder blades, and reassuring. Arin knows it’s Dan without even having to look back. The ghost of a smile flits beneath Arin’s mustache.

“Lovely time dropping off the mending?” Dan asks innocently, hand still poised resolutely.

“Suzy sends you her regards, and tut-tuts you for being so careless with the seat of your pants.” Arin responds drolly.

“Oh, I don’t believe we should be discussing MY pants when yours have been to far more interesting places.” Dan retorts, shaking out the cart cloth.

“I told you. I have high-class trousers; they’re probably smoking a cigar at the theatre as we speak.”

Dan smirks at this.  
“I don’t care to imagine the hole it’s smoking out of.”

Again, despite the circumstances, Arin can’t stop from smiling. He also can’t stop himself from asking where the children are. Dan doesn’t drop the conversational tone a bit.

“Grace, Hannah, and Hannah have taken them to the wine cellar. Their room is too close to the commotion, and they don’t know what’s going on. Hannah convinced them that it’s a vampire that only eats children so they need to stay hidden. God love her, I think the three of them will end up saving us all.”

The two men make their way into the pantry, arms laden. The kitchen servants approach them with indifferent faces and calm bodies. Arin feels bile rise in the back of his throat -- the calmer things were Downstairs, the more furious it usually was Up. Dan passes a bunch of carrots to a kitchen maid before the two men head off for their second load. Arin swallows his pride.

“Are you going to tell me what’s actually happening, Dan?”

Dan reaches for a sack of flour.

“That depends. Are you prepared for the worst news possible?”

Arin gathers a cask of vinegar under his left arm.

“Give it to me straight.”

Dan looks like he’s about to make a caustic remark at that, but thinks better of it before dropping his voice to a lower tone.

“Cecilia McCulvert has arrived.”

Arin’s jaw drops, and the cask of vinegar almost follows.

“You must be joking. Please, Dan! Tell me you’re joking!”

Dan sighs, flips up the gate of the cart, and latches it.

“I wish I was, Arin.”

* * * * * *

Rosanna is working at break-neck speed, the most intense Arin has ever seen. Coincidentally, she is the quietest Arin has ever seen her. The help struggle to keep up with her furious pace, and Arin notices the wide array of baked goods being sent upstairs. Arin is prepared to help them, but he has to check something first. Sweat beads along his brow as Arin surges into the wine cellar. He’s got his hand worrying against the left cuff-link again. It’s a good thing his hand’s soon on the door latch, otherwise he would have gone arse over tea kettle.

The floor is very slippery due to the copious amounts of yellow stenography paper covering it. Upon them is the unmistakable chicken scratch of Matthew-Patrick, though Arin notices contributions of both Jenna and Tucker as well. They seem to be deliberate clues left to him detailing their whereabouts. Fortunately, the head butler already knows the casks in question. He knocks on all three in quick succession. One noise inside the barrel giggles, one fidgets, and the third knocks back quietly. Arin breaths a sigh of relief big enough that his eyes water. His profession tells him he’s dawdling, but his instincts tell him this is more important.

“Shhh! Don’t tell the vampire, but I brought you some food.”

Arin whispers loud enough for all to hear. The tops of the casks come loose, and The Terrors emerge – Jenna and her pearls, Tucker and his magnifying glass, and Matthew-Patrick and his (now skinnier) notepad. All of them are bright and inquisitive, pestering Arin about his recent exploits into town, and if he knows anything about the vampire.

He’s purposefully vague about both subjects, though he wishes he knew more about the quote unquote “vampire.” He’d only ever heard accounts of Cecelia McCulvert from His Lordship, and the subject usually made the man sick. During his time as Senior Staff, Arin learned not to broach the subject of Cecelia unless he was Downstairs.

He gathers the children in a rare embrace before handing them glasses of milk and vegetable pasties. He sends them back into the casks and secures each of the lids before turning to leave. Arin adjusts his left cuff-link and straightens his tie.

Calm and collected.

* * * * * *

Over the next hour, Arin has the breakfast patio in some semblance of order. This was a marvel considering the abysmal state it was in when Arin first entered. He and the help scurry hither and thither, replacing overturned flower vases, upset coffee cups, and forlorn dishes. He notices trays being carried to room 9A, observing that absolutely nothing comes back half or even somewhat full.

Arin’s heard about Cecelia’s troubled past from a number of the servants. It was her late husband that contracted a serious illness, landing himself flat in bed for weeks. He wanted himself quarantined, he said, so that his beloved might be safe. Cecelia surprised him one evening with a crock of chicken soup and a compress. When she entered the room, she alarmed both him and the young woman that had crept in through the open window. Cecelia flew into a rage and, depending on whom you asked, killed both of them with a knife, a gun, strangled them in bedding, or beat them to death. Their bodies were never recovered. As Cecelia grew more sullen, she grew hungrier and hungrier.

Arin reflects solemnly on this as he mops up the last remnants of a flower vase. Dan has appeared on and off the scene giving him apologetic looks that make the head butler feel simultaneously worse that he can’t do anything and better because well, it’s Dan.

Arin brings in another load of flatware, passing Jory on the way to the kitchen. The gamekeeper is carding his fingers through his hair in a confused manner, his eyes unfocused and downcast. Arin deposits the flatware, and returns to meet Jory’s gaze. Seconds that seem to stretch into hours pass before the man utters something that Arin knew he’d remember for a very long time.

“Do – do you know that room 9A requested live quail?”

* * * * * *

It is nearing seven when Arin retires to his office to think. The small yet welcoming glow of a gas-lamp illuminates his tired features. As it has stood many times in the past, Arin is the last one to go to bed. It is not uncommon for him to fall asleep in his office, either. Many times in the past, he has awoken to find a blanket around his shoulders and a pillow beneath his head. The butler never asks who does it, he’s just grateful it happens.

Arin turns up the lamp beside him and reviews what he’s written so far. The scratchpad has a bullet-point list of Cecelia McCulvert since she arrived

  * No luggage

  * No transport

  * No announcement of arrival

  * No intended departure

  * Request for live produce, no remains after request




Arin’s stomach turns with that last item, and he blows a shaky breath. He had expected bones and feathers to be part of the dirty flatware brought back downstairs. When it didn’t happen, Arin wondered if there might be a rubbish pile somewhere in the room. She hadn’t been the first guest to exhibit odd behavior like that.

Two summers ago, a traveling circus had stayed at the B&B. Arin had expected eclectic behavior from entertainers certainly, but never what the strong man did that evening. One of the kitchen maids had come to Arin in a panic, claiming the meat from the morning’s butcher had disappeared. Arin thought it might have been a practical joke on behalf of the magician, Marvin, accompanying them. He learned soon that Iron Pete had a ritual where he slept on raw meat. He claimed the juices revitalized his fighting spirit and made him more powerful.

Arin wasn’t tempted to think that’s what happened to Cecilia – she was neither an entertainer, nor was she exceptionally strong.

But, she was probably asleep by now. If this was the case, what was the harm in sneaking a peek? Arin runs a thoughtful finger across his mustache – if she woke, he could claim he’d heard a noise in the hall and was coming to investigate. Besides, if she was hoarding food or refuse, he’d need to alert the staff about it first thing in the morning. Arrangements would need to be made for a secondary room while the first was cleaned.

The head butler stood with a sigh, balling his fists at his sides lightly.

“People don’t just appear out of thin air.” Arin mutters into the study.

“They do if they’re vampires.” A small voice asserts behind him. Arin starts a bit, but isn’t all that surprised to see Matthew-Patrick peering around the door frame. It isn’t the first time one of The Terrors have visited him this time of night. In fact, it often happened when His Lord- and Ladyship were away. The children were much more lax about their bed schedules during these times. If Arin were pressed to admit it, so were the staff.

Matthew-Patrick pokes a shy finger into his mouth as Arin smiles. He already knows what the next question will be.

“Are you going to see the vampire lady?” Matthew-Patrick pulls on the worn hem of his over-sized nightshirt. “I’m scared of her...” he adds as an afterthought. Arin considers something.

“I’m scared of her too, pal. That’s why I’m going to see her.”

“But why are you going to see her if you’re scared of her?”

Arin grins.

“Because she’ll be asleep. People aren’t scary when they’re sleeping, are they?”

The child has to think about this one for a while before responding.

“Maybe if we tip-toe, she won’t wake up.”

“I think that’s a capital idea, buddy. You wanna go first, or shall I?”

Matthew-Patrick stops picking the hem of his shirt. Arin watches the personality go from scared child to seasoned detective.

“I need to go make sure the coast is clear.” Matthew-Patrick adopts a crouch, and interestingly enough, Arin finds himself doing the same.

Arin turns the lamp down to the smallest flicker manageable without extinguishing it completely. The two creep down the hallway to the base of the servant stairs.

* * * * *

Arin has to stop himself from asking where Tucker and Jenna are, lest the little detective offer to wake them up to “help.” He considers taking the boy back to the little makeshift cots in the Nanny’s room, but that might risk waking Allie. The best and safest place for this tiny gumshoe to be was by Arin’s side.

Arin replaces the hallway tea light that has almost burned down to nothing. Matthew-Patrick holds the lamp reverently while Arin fumbles. It occurs to Arin that Lord McCulvert wouldn’t allow for his child to hold something as precarious as a gas lamp under normal circumstances. The butler reasons that since His Lordship’s sister is not a normal circumstance, however, that allowances might be made.

The tea light flickers into existence, and Arin waves out the match before taking up the lantern. Matthew-Patrick looks almost sad to pass it back and Arin has to catch himself from chuckling at the reaction.

“Why don’t we solve this mystery, and then call it a night?” Arin asks the boy. He nods emphatically, but there’s no smile on his face. He adopts a crouch again, and Arin has to remind himself that if he keeps crouching too, he’s going to feel it in the morning. Despite the reminder, Arin slouches all the way to 9A.

The interior is dark as Arin surmises, but is anything but quiet. Deep baritone rumbling emanates from within, and Arin fancies he can almost hear an echo behind it. His ears must be playing tricks on him – it sounds as if a bull has checked into room 9A and is sawing off logs.

“ _I didn’t think vampires slept!”_ Matthew-Patrick whisper-admits from somewhere underneath Arin’s armpit.

“ _I didn’t think they snored that loud, either!”_ Arin whisper-admits back. He doesn’t know if he’s disappointed, or relieved.

Try as it might, Arin’s nose doesn’t tell him much about the room. His eyes don't tell him any better. Unlike many of the other guests, Cecelia doesn’t seem to sleep with a small source of light to keep her safe. Arin’s breath catches in his throat. Something about the interior of this room isn’t sitting right with him. Cold sweat breaks out on the back of his neck and he has an almost insatiable desire to adjust the cuff-links on his left wrist.

“ _Looks like we should leave her alone tomorrow, even if she isn’t a vampire. Come on, Matthew-Patrick, let’s get back to bed.”_

The tiny investigator's own breath seems to hitch at the use of his full first name. Quiet as church mice, the two figures slink away to their separate rooms. Within the confines of 9A, two mouths grin wide in the dark.


	4. Taking The Cake

When Arin wakes up far too early, he rubs a hand across his face and groans. He’s done it again – woken up before his alarm. The typical person would turn over and savor whatever sacred minutes they have, but not Arin. He’ll ruminate over it and wind himself tighter than the bed springs he’s compressing.

Arin clears his throat before reaching across the side table to turn the alarm off before rising. He stands, and discards his nightshirt without ceremony, dreading where this afternoon might take him. The emergence of The Terrors might be nice for the start of the day, but he fancies they won’t be up yet. He’ll have to make time to talk to Allie about keeping them away from 9A.

After he’s fully dressed, Arin takes a seat on the handsome red chest at the foot of his bed. He places his hands on his knees, hangs his head, and considers where all the guests have gone. Never mind that, the Press would almost certainly be aware of the trouble by now! People love to talk, and a scandal concerning one of the nation’s prominent Bed and Breakfasts would be too tempting to ignore. Arin supposes he’ll have to make some sort of announcement to the gossip vultures that appear. Before that, though, a staff meeting will be the first thing Arin has to do. With His Lord and Ladyship due at noon today, he’d have to make sure everyone knows how to handle themselves with a wildcard in 9A.

The head butler wipes a nervous hand across his mustache, and exits the room. He’d have to make do without the masquerading of the children today. Besides, his mind was already at the head of the Downstairs dining table addressing everybody.

He closes the chamber door, and works on the first half of his speech aloud to himself.

“It’s probably no secret why I called this meeting. By now, you are acquainted with the issue we have in 9A...”

Arin wanders through the gentlemen’s quarters, walking briskly when he has a good sentence going, and dawdling when his thoughts stutter. Arin pauses to collect them, and tilts his head to listen to the wakings and rousings of the staff. Odd – all the sounds returning to his ears are those of a staff operating at full capacity. He catches the no-nonsense clatterings of Rosanna organizing breakfast, the sounds of busboys with empty flatware, and the scuffing of shoes as they trudge along dusty stone. But the strangest thing of all is how _quiet_ it is. 

Nobody speaks to anybody.

Nobody exchanges even brief information.

Nobody’s friendly banter bounces off the wall.

The hairs on the back of Arin’s neck bristle as his right hand goes instinctively to his left cuff-link.

For the staff to be this quiet, things Upstairs must have taken a drastic turn indeed.

Arin steals himself, and proceeds down the hallway to the pantry. He has to pass by the wine cellar to reach the kitchen, and stops dead when he sees movement. Through a crack in the door, he sees the familiar form of Daniel. The footman  has his back turned, and appears to be preparing  a  drink on a tray.  He works mechanically, slow and delicate in execution.

Arin’s tongue works to get Daniel’s attention, but the back of his throat has turned to  the Sahara . He works to get a sound – any sound – out, but Dan’s name has been swallowed in the sand. Finding himself without any recourse, Arin knocks on the door instead. 

Dan appears to pay him no mind, and continues with the contents of the tray. Arin’s curiosity gets the better of him, and he steps in beside Dan. A steaming tea cup sit upon the metal surface, and accompanying it a canister of loose-leaf Earl Gray.

Arin gently takes Daniel around the arm, attempting eye contact. Dan turns, and meets Arin’s gaze but for a moment as he takes up the tray. His large, panicked eyes flicker down to a slip of paper where the tray was. Daniel makes his way to the door and he’s gone before Arin can stop him. He looks down at the paper, one of Matthew-Patrick’s stenography pages, and reads in Dan’s trembling left-hand font:

\-- You M UST rem ain cal m,fo llow m e

\--don’ t lo ok at he r stra igght

Out of impulse, Arin folds the paper, and tucks it into the inside pocket of his blazer. He kept many of The Terribles’ drawings and notes, placing them in the safety of the red chest at the foot of his cot. He traces Dan’s steps, and mentally retraces the directions on the paper.

_You MUST remain calm, follow me, and don’t look at her straight._

The first two direction he understood  well , but what did Daniel mean by not looking at her straight? Was he to only look at her peripherally?  Arin decides t hat must be it.  He climbs the smooth stone stairs to the guest bedrooms at a slow, measured pace.

C alm and collected.

* * * * * *

Arin is a bona fide nervous wreck on the inside, though he doesn’t appear to be as he sees Dan lift the latch. He’s balancing the tray with one hand as he’s fumbling, and Arin reaches for the teetering object automatically to steady it. The footman responds by flashing Arin one of his most debonair smiles, and the butler forgets most of his fear. Were anyone else holding that tray, Arin doubts it would've had the same effect.

The door swings wide, and Arin hears the voices of Mamrie, Hannah, and Grace singing. It’s the song he caught them singing just this morning. This morning seems like an eon since it happened.

Daniel and Arin pass by guest rooms 1A and 3A, and it startles Arin how immaculate they are despite the circumstances. The counter panes on the beds are pulled back and folded, the windows to outside spotless, and the carpets the cleanest he’s ever seen them. It would appear the rooms are all ready to be inhabited, and don’t at all speak of the calamitous mass exodus earlier. Rooms 5A and 7A are in similar states. Arin catches the time piece on one of the bedside dressers as he passes by, its face reading 8:17.

The three maids were singing the third verse of the familiar ditty when he and Daniel reach the door. Dan looks back over his shoulder towards Arin, but doesn’t meet Arin’s gaze directly, as if to emphasize the points on his note. Arin nods once, so does Dan, and they enter.

Arin’s eyes were cast down upon entering the room, so naturally the first thing he saw was the bottom of a queen bed. The frame was sagging so terribly as to make it appear like a savage grin. The person responsible for this sat dead-center, fanning herself with an old copy of _Cosmopolitan_. 

Arin had been to countless circuses and carnivals with Suzy. The seamstress had a taste for the weird and obscure, and Arin found himself face to face with plenty of society’s outcasts including Fat Ladies. But as a fellow Fat Lady, Cecilia McCulvert took the cake – Cecilia McCulvert took the whole damn bakery. From his side vision, Arin could see the puffy countenance of her ruddy face, the sweat that ran in glistening beads down her pug nose, and the swollen fingers on her right hand. 

Cecilia motions with the magazine to Mamrie, Grace, and Hannah who stop singing at the gesture. They bow their heads, and depart immediately. She then motions greedily to Dan, who’s at her side with the tray.

The woman sips at the cup noisily.

Once.

Twice.

Three times.

She smacks her lips before speaking. When she does, Arin immediately thinks of stuffy college professors and their bullfrog-like croaking cadence.

“So...my beef-witted brother has seen fit to depart the premises, has he? Some sort of grand errand out of town, no doubt. Absolutely no regards for his poor, dear sister...”

Another sip.

Daniel says nothing. Neither does Arin. Cecilia punctuates the next sentence by tucking an errant strand of red-going-gray hair behind her  large  ear. Even using side-vision, Arin can see just how elephantine they are.

“It has been nearly a month after my birthday, and nothing. No well-wishing by post, no phone calls, and certainly no visitation. But then, what else can you expect of the man? After constructing the Bed and Breakfast of his dreams, everything else is a mere drop in the bucket now, isn’t it?”

A rin restrains a yearning most monstrous to start fusing with his left cuff-link. So it’ s going to be one of TH E SE customers.  Arin bows slightly, saying

“I assure you, had I know my employer’s sister was planning a stay, we would have made every opportunity to accommodate.”

Cecilia  drains the last bit  out of the cup, swirling the dregs at the bottom  hedonistically.

“Yes, well you and your staff seem to have at least a child’s comprehension of what it means to accommodate. Oh, and speaking of your children….”

At this, Arin’s back stiffens. He can see Daniel adopt a similar posture, though his face remains placid. If she intends to do anything with Jenna, Tucker, or Matthew-Patrick…!

_You M UST rem ain cal m._

Dan breaks in for the first time,

“Oh, I assure you the children are very well-behaved. They will not be bothering you for any length of your stay.”

At this, Cecilia gave a dissolute grin, holding her tea cup in mid-air over the edge of the bed. Dan supplies the tray quickly, taking back the cup.

“Oh-ho no. No, no, no. The children will not be bothering me anytime soon, I have made sure of that. You see, my brother’s loggerheaded hell-spawn seem to have inherited his insatiable curiosity. They came dawdling over in their dismal attire with their snotty noses and stared at me like I was some sort of side show. So I asked if they’d like to see a magic trick. And they were so eager to say yes, you see, I just couldn’t help but oblige.”

_Where the devil are the children?? Where the devil is Allie?? Are all four of them alright?_

“We had a traveling circus here once. The magician was particularly handy with a deck of cards.” Arin must be losing his mind. He can’t tell if that sentence belonged to him or Dan.

He looks to Daniel for confirmation, but Dan’s eyes are glued to the tea cup as they should probably be. Fat Lady McCulvert doesn’t seem to care either way as she continues.

“Ohhhhh, so you like slight-of-the-hand and silly little parlor tricks, do you? It would stand to reason. My brother always was...accommodating, to use your word, to the rump-fed corn smut of society. Well I assure you the magics I wield are far more elaborate than any standard magician’s hoop-dee-doo. Your children’s nurse refused to believe me, and I took care of the strumpet promptly.”

Cecilia pauses to mop the damp off her forehead before delivering the first blow of many.

“As an example to the children, I devoured her.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *face palm* I'm so sorry. Or not. I made the mistake of writing at 3 AM again, and sh*t like this happens.


	5. Up in the Air

When Dan ventures to check on Arin, he finds him in exactly the spot he imagines. The head butler is sitting on the floor of the nursery, facing the three sleeping forms of Matthew-Patrick, Jenna, and Tucker. Dan peers at the children, noting it’s as if they’ve been put down for an early afternoon nap. Jenna curls around a favored stuffed bunny, Tucker sleeps with one shoe on, and Matthew-Patrick has his hands balled up close to his face. Nothing looks out of place – nothing except for Arin. He has his hands folded in his lap, but it looks as if he’s also holding something. Dan knocks softly on the door frame to get his attention, but Arin doesn’t look up. Dan moves closer to see what he’s holding.

It’s a photo taken last fall of Allie and the children. She stands beside them proudly as Tucker, Jenna, and Matthew-Patrick display triumphant grins at the leaf pile they have raked together. It was taken on Allie’s Wirgen Edinex camera, a Christmas present from her aunt. The nanny had always been interested in photography, and the camera was a treasured keepsake. It presently resided in a locked chest in her wardrobe where the children couldn’t disturb it.

“Are they harmed?” Dan asks softly.

“Not a hair on their heads.” came the response.

Arin looks up from his spot on the floor, and asks in a tone that worries Dan immensely,

“Have the Lord and Lady been contacted?”

Dan closes his eyes against the sudden sting of tears.

“No, but I so dearly wish they could be. Cecilia has somehow disabled the wires going out. The upside of this is that the Press can’t reach us, but the downside is we can’t reach anybody else.”

The head butler paws at his face, before burying it in his hands. Dan immediately takes a seat beside him, sliding an arm across his shoulders.

It takes a minute, but eventually Arin straightens again, pulling a handkerchief from an inner-most pocket of his jacket. He blows a couple of times before managing,

“Daniel, we need to call a staff meeting. Not in twenty minutes, not in five. We need to do it right this very minute.”

The footman gives his friend’s shoulders a light squeeze.

“I couldn’t have suggested anything better.” He encourages.

“You go on ahead of me. I’ll locate Hannah, and tell her to keep watch over the children.”

* * * * * *

Arin squares his shoulders against a familiar sea of faces. He stands at the head of the servant’s downstairs dining table. A portion of his brain wanted him to hold this meeting in the open comfort of Guest Dining, but the tall windows would be far too inviting to the outside. If it were true that the news outlets were on their way here, he couldn’t risk anything. Arin clears his throat.

“I suppose it’s no mystery as to why I called this meeting. Given the dire circumstances, I can’t think why I didn’t call this earlier. I cannot begin to express how sorry I am to report the death of our nursemaid, Allie Burton.”

The entire room seems to let out its breath. Two bus boys look at each other apprehensively, and Grace and Mamrie join hands. Arin continued.

“I am officially putting this entire estate on lock-down. No incoming guests or visitors, and no personnel leave without express permission of myself. I want all the windows shuttered and locked, and heavy curtains added where possible. Doors are to be locked and guarded. I suspect the news are on their way here, and will use any excuse possible to gain entry. Since the lines have been destroyed, there will be no phone calls in or out, either.”

Arin pauses to look at his time piece. It wouldn’t be long now. He continues.

“Since Lord Brock and Lady Sarah are due back in 2 ½ hours, I still expect us to carry out our duties given Cecilia’s arrival. If we can present ourselves decently and with good enough humor, perhaps that will ease the shock. In the meantime, I’m going to figure out some way of alerting the Lord and Lady. Let’s keep our heads up and our eyes sharp. Cecilia may have fallen into a deep sleep, but that doesn’t mean we can let our guard down. I wish everybody luck. Meeting adjourned.”

The staff departs somberly as Arin heads for his office. Daniel is hot on Arin’s heels as the head butler grabs for a notepad and pen. He scribbles something upon it as Dan fidgets in the doorway. It’s a mystery as to what’s on the pad until the footman spies Arin’s signature at the bottom:

“Lovingly yours, sugar bear”

Dan has an inkling of what the man might be doing, but he presses him regardless.

“I can’t help but wonder how you’ll send for Susie. If the roads are being monitored as you say they are, what will you do?”

Arin swipes a finger across his mustache, folding the note into his breast pocket.

“Well that’s the trick, isn’t it? Jory knows the back roads the best, but I don’t gather we can take the gamekeeper away with Cecilia here. But I know someone whom we can spare!”

As soon as both men set foot outside, an unexpected chill gust of wind hit them. Daniel shields his eyes from it, and Arin spits out a rogue lock of hair visiting his mouth. The skies above have clouded over considerably, and Arin blows out a syllable of discouragement. Bits of hay billow out in unseen eddies around Isaac, who pauses his chores. He too brings an arm up to shield himself from the sudden gales, asking in the process,

“Did the woman from 9A leave us yet?”

The boy has such an unadulterated look of hope on his face, and Arin wants so much to give Isaac positive news. Instead of answering the question directly, Arin asks “Do you remember farmer Benjamin who lives down by the fish pond?”

Isaac squints his eyes into the wind, but nods, obviously trying to work out what this has to do with anything.

“I need you to run to him, and ask him if you can borrow Bunny. She’s the fastest mare he has. You’d only need her long enough to run into town to Susie, deliver a message to her for me, and come straight back.”

Arin tries not to break down into a fit of giggles at Isaac’s reaction as he details his plans. The stable boy’s eyes have grown increasingly large upon hearing of such an “adult” errand. Behind him, Dan makes a throaty noise similar to a cough, and this makes it all the harder not to laugh. Isaac fiddles with his suspenders impatiently as Arin produces the note from his inner pocket.

“Use the fields and side roads, Isaac. Take the path beside the tracks if you have to. Just don’t be seen by the Press.”

He holds it between his first and middle fingers, and Isaac takes it reverently, before making the maddest dash Arin has ever seen down the lane toward the pond. He trips over his feet twice, catches himself both times, and careens down a small hill out of sight. The instant he’s out of earshot, Dan stumbles towards a stack of hay bales. Arin has a couple seconds of pure anxiety at this before he sees the footman collapse upon them in a fit of hiccuping laughter.

For the second time that day, Arin loses his composure and collapses right beside Dan. The random bits of hay that interweave themselves in Dan’s hair makes him look like a scarecrow, and that makes Arin laugh even harder.

“Did—did you! Did you—see??” Arin tries, but just can’t get a sentence out. Daniel nods helplessly, attempting a piteous sitting position. He fails miserably at this, folding against Arin, and the two start up all over again. Arin clutches his stomach and the two men breathe against the increasingly angry air. The butler can’t remember the last time he laughed this hard. He tries to think about it, and as he does, finds his hands up around his friend’s lapels, rather by accident. He wants to tell Dan how much he needed this break from insanity, but his mouth has other ideas.

“They’re coming, Dan! They’re gonna – they’re gonna be here at noon! And there’s nothing to stop them against it! He’s going to be walking right into her trap!! I just sent Isaac on a fool’s errand!”

The second time the footman tries to sit up, he has much better success. He also rights Arin to a similar position.

“I know, buddy, I know!” Dan hasn’t quite stopped himself from his own hilarity yet, and having to scream into the wind to be heard isn’t helping. He’s also trying to free himself from his companion’s rather desperate grip.

The taller man tries to half cajole Arin, and half clean him of the hay. Neither of them see Barry emerge from his gate hut, nor do they hear the creak of the hinge allowing in a visitor. In fact, they only take notice of said visitor at all when she approaches them.

The wind has picked up twofold since Isaac’s departure, making Susie’s dress billow as she dismounts. Ever the social intuitive, Daniel takes the reins from Susie eagerly, and leads her bedraggled horse to the stables for a drink. It is not an easy task when you’re struggling to keep your feet the entire time. The moment Susie’s feet hit the ground, however, she is upon Arin. The two wrap each other in a much-needed embrace. The wind pushes at the couple furiously, dislodging the seamstress’s fascinator in the process.

Daniel tries not to look at their intimacies, but it is hard not to observe a couple nearly being blown off their feet by hurricane-force winds.

Several things happen all at once. The stall’s roof that Dan is under loses several of its slats in the bluster. One falls directly on the back of the horse causing it to buck. Since it is not yet secured, the gate behind it flies open, and the wind catches to break it off. Arin muses as he sees Dan dart out of the way of the flying gate how everything seems to move in sort of a slow motion. He watches Susie grab him with one hand, and the hem of her skirts with the other. He watches his other hand being grabbed by Dan, and sees him screaming something. He watches the terrorized horse charging past everybody to seek better shelter in the forest by the pond.

Arin isn’t aware of the exploding windows two stories above until he hears a high-pitched whine. It’s as if he’s standing next to the Mirror Lake Express train, and the engineer blows the horn, only it’s malfunctioning. It’s warbling and foul, like metal upon metal. A scant second later, the remnants of glass rain down upon their heads. The three of them huddle jerkily, their faces to the earth. Arin distantly wonders how long it’s going to take to clear the glass from Dan’s wild mane of hair. He also muses this wasn’t any natural force – this was Cecilia. His thoughts go to 9A – and then to Susie as her feet lift off the ground.

Dan grapples for Susie’s arm as Arin watches her once-billowing dress fold in on itself. It’s held close to her body, as if some giant invisible fist is reaching out to strangle the life from her. Arin’s shoes fight for purchase as he and Dan struggle to pull Susie out of the melee. The gale forces around them have picked up so much derbis, it’s impossible to tell one object from the next. It’s also impossible to see where you’re going when your own feet lift off the ground.

He and Dan knock into each other.

Once.

Twice.

Three times.

Arin’s world blurs around the edges, his nostrils, mouth, and eyes filled with dust. He’s losing! He’s losing Susie, he’s losing Daniel, he’s losing the children! Arin wants to claw at the neck of his shirt to rip the buttons away, but doing that would mean letting go, but he can’t breathe, damnit, he can’t breathe!

Arin’s grip slackens, and he doesn’t feel Dan by his side anymore. He doesn’t feel Susie. He doesn’t feel anything.

Arin Hanson’s world fades to black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Working on the Epilogue as we speak. The Faerie Of Indecision decided to visit me at 1a.m. again, and I'm changing how things sit in the paragraphs. Thank you for being patient with me : }


	6. Epilogue

It is 7:30 in the evening when Arin and Dan settle down to record. They have just finished take-out from a local Thai place, and haven’t cleared the table of left-overs.

Arin rests with his back comfortably against the recording couch, half digesting and half listening to what Dan’s doing in the kitchen. From the sounds of it, he’s making tea. Sometimes Arin thinks he recognizes the type of coffee cup or mug used just by the clinks it makes on the counter. He surprises himself by being right most of the time. He thinks he knows the mug this time, too. It could be that disgusting paisley-printed one that Ross got as a gag gift last Christmas.

It doesn’t take long before an appealing aroma wafts in, one that Arin swears he knows. Was it some sort of tea from Susie’s collection?

“Hey Dan?”

Dan stick his head around the corner.

“Yeah?”

“Is that the tea from Nate’s wedding?”

Dan looks up and to the left, considering.

“If you mean that great-smelling almond one, then yes. Yes, it is. You want some?”

Arin takes a moment to dramatically rub a hand over his stomach, making sure that Dan can see.

“No-oo, dude. I can’t do anything more at the moment. Talk to me in 30 minutes, and I might change my mind.”

“Gottcha!”

Dan chuckles, and retreats back into the kitchen to finish the prep work. This lets Arin decide what game they’re going to play for the next few hours. He’s torn between one that features colorful alien blobs that have been turned into humans in a freak lab accident, or a first-person shooter dating sim that has guns that turn into anime girls. He mulls over the two titles, weighing them in his mind.

Hmmm, aliens or boobs, aliens or boobs?

He’s in the middle of picturing alien boobs when Dan calls out from the kitchen.

“Oh cool! You already picked out a game for us, huh?”

Arin is slightly confused, because no, no he hasn’t. He’s kind of being distracted by fantastic extra-terrestrial cleavage at the moment.

“Uhhhh...no, I’m kinda deciding that now, why?”

Dan emerges from the kitchen, a Pokemon tea cup in his left hand ( _aw damn, wrong one),_ and a suspicious-looking DVD-type box in the other. 

A rin scrunches his nose up because the re’s no cover art  or description. He opens up the box, revealing a singular DVD disc. The hen scratch on  it is in bad cursive, and rather hard to read. Arin tilts his head sideways, finally figuring out,

_The McCulvert Tragedy_

“ ‘The McCulvert Tragedy’ sounds like a cold case from the early 1970s, or some shit.” Dan remarks, taking a sip from the still-too-hot tea and burning himself in the process. He’s in the middle of smacking his stinging lips when he gets a peculiar look in his eyes. Arin has heard Dan’s “disappointed mother” tone, and he’s treated to it once again as Dan peers at him from over Ivysaur.

“Arin.”

Arin can’t help but grin a little bit, because he feels he knows what’s coming next and he’s right.

“If this is another surprise horror game like PT, I swear I will douse your balls in boiling liquid.”

Arin smirks.

“As kinky and fun as that sounds, I promise I didn’t pick this one. It’s probably something from the Lovelies. “

Dan takes another sip, daintier this time.

“Whatever you say, dude. Still not entirely convinced.”

* * * * * *

A short time after setup, the two men relax against the couch. The coffee table has been cleared of Thai left-overs, and Arin has one foot propped up on it’s glass surface. Dan sits to his right, his feet drawn under him. The title screen before them features nothing more than a black-on-beige overlay of 1930s photos.

“What is that, like a coach house or stable or something?”

Arin can’t quite make out the image due to the blurred pixelization.

“Your guess is as good as mine, man. You wanna take a moment to figure it out before I hit record?”

Dan considers, setting down the now-empty Ivysaur cup by the side of the couch.

“Naw, I’m good. Let’s do it.”

Arin tries to disregard the sudden, odd sensation in his left wrist. It feels like he’s wearing a bracelet that’s too tight. He reaches over and squeezes where it might be.

~end~


End file.
